Let's Panic

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it.

You are, all of you, delightful. You are. You humor me when I hit you up for compliments, and you clamor for vengeance against the Weird Soliciting Physical Therapist. (Dear baffled and/or disturbed p.t.’s out there: I don’t know what my audience has against all of you, either! I suspect they’ve only been swept along in my madness. Most physical therapists are lovely people who only wish to help those who are suffering. A small percentage are pure, liquid evil stuffed into a human-shaped skin sack. A tiny percentage.)

As for ruining the career and the life of the aforementioned therapist, I particularly enjoyed your pleas for mercy. Of course it was all for naught, as she crossed me and now I must destroy her. She will rue the day she ever licked that stamp.

Seriously, do you think I’m that nefarious? Don’t you think I have better things to do with my time, like ingest too much caffeine and wheel my kid around Park Slope trying to strike up conversations with strangers because god I’m so lonely?

Actually I’m not lonely, but the coffee, it makes me garrulous. It garrulates me. It causes me to make up words. And then Henry gets sick of my mindless chatter and my friends are all honest working folks, not layabout breeders (except for Sarah—hi, Sarah! Everyone look at Sarah’s cute daughter as she dances!) and I’m forced to harass sales clerks and fellow mothers and anyone who looks at me, because I’m So Hyper! And Isn’t It Hot Out! And Hi Your Kid is Cute, OH GOD TALK TO ME. (NB: the caps are meant to denote a kind of screaming inside the head. I employ caps for specific reasons, not just because I have ovaries. The ovaries are what lead me to dot my I’s with smiley faces and to adorn the ends of my y’s with flowers and shit.)

Wait. What? Oh, right. Coffee! Medical professionals have instructed me—more precisely, pleaded with me—to give up caffeine. Which I did, sort of, in that actually I didn’t at all. But I did limit myself to one cup of tea in the morning. I did this for a while. I was so good! And then the hot weather came, and I am weak and I love iced coffee more than any other liquid. At first I was just drinking decaf. Then I moved on to half decaf, half caf. But today I weakened even further and I purchased this incredible beverage, this slushy espresso drink that probably has more 23 tablespoons of sugar in it. And it doesn’t come in any form other than Highly Caffeinated. Even though I bought the thimble-sized version, I am now more juiced up than I have been in a long time. I have been more comfortable.

Returning to the original subject: the letter from my p.t. I emailed Randy Cohen, aka The Ethicist of New York Times fame, to ask him what he thought. His response: “It does seem out of line to use a client list for some other purpose. But more disturbing: who'd seek financial advice from a physical therapist? What if it contradicts the stock tips you get from your butcher?” And there you have it.

Reader Comments (37)

I have a tawdry affair with caffeine. I worked nights for five years and slurped caffeinated sodas like there was no tomorrow. I needed it... you know... to stay awake and stuff. Six months ago I started working days and convinced myself that my body was a pristine temple and quit drinking caffeine.

But... caffeine kept calling. It just wouldn't leave me alone. For months I just rebuffed it, but then I went overseas and I was on vacation and all jet lagged and stuff and I went back to caffeine. I just hope my husband doesn't find out.

"pure liquid evil" makes me think of "liquid black hate" which my wife contends resides in my soul. She only says that in reference to my attitude toward other drivers, so I guess it's ok, though, right? Also, I always imagine that it looks about like that 'Pom' crap.

Oh yes, hurray, hurray, hurray for coffee. I love coffee so very much. I quit smoking two years ago for the bambino and there was no. way. in. hell. I was giving up the caffeine too.

But back to the PT for a moment. (*grunt* climbing up on soapbox...) Everyone wants you to cut her slack because of the letter (which was mondo icky) and that's fine, but REPORT HER for her terrible execution of her duties as a therapist! The fact that she did not want to participate in you getting better is a much bigger deal that her lack of postal judgment.

Can't stand coffee. Sort of fond of cappucino. Was a Mountain Dew & Cigarette for breakfast kind of girl for years. Now I drink water. WATER. Yes, I find it depressing as well.

Why does anyone care whether or not you use caps as an emphasis? Or Dooce? I do it. I've done it for years. I also will italic as well (I'm not sure that italic is a verb but you know what I mean). However, I refuse to dot my i's with hearts because that's just weird and too girly for me. Ovaries be damned!

I wouldn't be afraid if you came and garrulated at me. I like to garrulate myself but that is because I am charmingly askew and refeshingly and delightfully mad. Garrulate is a good word. I like it.

I was actually kicking myself today. A mother had approached me about where to find a good, kid friendly apartment in our area, as her and her hubby had recently relocated here. I thought for a moment, came up with nothing, and explained to her that we too are new to Monterey. I gave her my copy of the local independent paper and apologized I couldn't be more helpful. Later, I am kicking myself that someone actually TALKED to me and I didn't jump at the chance. DOH!

Thanks for all the kind words re: the dancing-machine baby video. I made it (the video, and to a large extent the baby) myself! Since I videotaped that dance she's started doing other moves. A popular one now is flapping her elbows up and down, alternating sides, as she walks around. Pretty cute, but you can't beat the butt wiggle, I think.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who wrote such nice comments. Sometimes a layabout mama needs to hear a kind word or two. Good internets!